STAR HOUNDS -- OMNIBUS Page 7

  Dansen Jitt was born on a planet in the Antares sector, a world called Changeit in Neogalactic. His colony was one of the first to adopt xenoforming, adapting to fit to the ecology of a world rich with a different chemical structure from Earth standard. However, after thousands of humans had adjusted, something cataclysmic happened to their sensibilities. It was voted, through their democratic government, to change back to Earth Human Standard and travel the course of terraforming. The transition, though costly and difficult, was a success, and Changeit became one of the most successful new worlds, rich in everything. But its inhabitants were somehow different for their double change; tradition said the Changed had seen something in their New Reality that so terrorized them that their choice was either to return to their previous state or destroy themselves. As a result, their descendants owned unusual near-psychic talents … and tended toward a constant state of low-level fear and paranoia.

  Dansen Jitt had been the son of a merchant. Early in his life he had discovered his knack for accuracy in statistical odds—without the benefit of actual hard statistics. The facts, he told Laura, would pop into his head at the most erratic moments. He found that he could use this “talent” to his best advantage in the casinos of the Anarchy Worlds, and for a long time went on boom-and-bust cycles of wealth. Occasional deep gambling debts forced him into a life of periodic crime, which he hated because of his overwhelming cowardice. He soon became persona non grata on many worlds.

  However, just last year, he had met a remarkable fellow in a particularly seedy dive on Marshton IV.

  “I was down on my funds, but statistically I was hot and the stuff was pouring into me as the dice rolled on the spinning cards. Shaksa we were playing, and one of the heavy losers was a military-looking guy who drank like he had an empty leg.

  “After the game he asked me to buy him a drink.’Jitt’ he says, ‘how’d you like to make some real money and get the opportunity to enjoy it without Authority breathing down your backside?’

  “He explained he was a captain of the most wonderful starship in the universe. ‘Now, mind you, we do need funds, so occasionally we knock off the odd Federation vessel, or hire our services to the wealthy. Nothing too dangerous, and I distinguish something in you that could make it even less dangerous.’

  “Well, he couldn’t have come at a better time. I had almost nowhere to go. I was even a criminal on Changeit. So I agreed.

  “Of course, Northern was lying through his teeth about what the Starbow truly does …. But if you stick around for any length of time, I suppose you’ll discover that fact readily enough.”

  Laura supposed she would have to stick around for a time; she didn’t want to try to escape, because the Starbow was her hope for getting to Shortchild quickly.

  Laura attempted to probe for more information, but at that point Dansen Jitt was interrupted and notified that the captain was ready for an audience with the captive, and would he and the robot guards kindly lead her to the galley, where a modest dinner was under way?

  This suited Laura very well, for not only did she wish to bargain with the captain of this weird boat; she was also quite hungry.

  Chapter Nine

  The galley proved more of a stateroom. Laura had been on a great many starships in her four years alternating between Intelligence and blip-ship testing, but she had never seen anything like this on any of them. She had seen rooms like this in some of the old movies that Cal had dredged up from the substorage basements. What age did those films depict? Oh yes, “Victorian” it was called.

  “Greetings, Laura Shemzak,” said Captain Tars Northern from behind a large cut-glass goblet of red wine. “Please have a seat. Soup will be served quite soon.”

  The chamber was lined with dark wood paneling. A chandelier, curlings of steel to which glass and light clung like Boxinian fire bees, hung over a long walnut table. Dansen Jitt guided Laura to a high-backed wooden chair opposite the captain and the other two diners, Dr. Mish and a man Laura did not recognize.

  After seating her, Jitt signaled the robots to remain, but sat beside Laura, which signaled to her his trust. The gesture was not lost on Captain Northern. He smiled broadly. “Mr. Cromwell,” he ordered a robot servant, “would you pour our guest some wine?”

  To one side of the captain sat the ever vigilant Dr. Mish, gripping his sensor board, still wearing a lab smock. To the other sat a dark, intense young man who was looking at Laura as though he possessed X-ray vision. Laura allowed the wine to be poured, but did not touch it.

  Dansen Jitt held a finger in the air as though remembering something. “The young lady and I had a very splendid conversation, and I can vouch for her intelligence and apparent sincerity.”

  “May I introduce my first mate, Mr. Arkm Thur,” the captain said, after acknowledging Dansen Jitt’s testimonial with a nod. Despite the presence of wine, he seemed entirely sober; he seemed much more solemn, now, his aspect bereft of its previous animated humor. But his tone remained slightly droll.

  Laura, impatient even with this brief ceremony, decided to take a more direct tack.

  “I want you to take me to Shortchild. I can arrange for recompense, Captain. And I promise to strike this kidnapping from your Federation record.”

  “Kidnapping?” Northern said, almost spewing wine all over the table. “We didn’t raid the Ezekiel to steal an arrogant, troublesome bitch!”

  “Might I remind you, Captain, that even verbal assault is an offense. I have a good memory, and this will be reported.”

  The first mate scowled, shook his head. “She seems to be falling back on the mind-screw methodologies of Federation officers, Captain. Sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

  The captain nodded and said, “Now, can we get to some realistic discussion? Being pragmatists, we naturally wonder, why we should even allow you to breathe our air after your frightful display!” Captain Northern hid a smile behind a napkin and coughed before resuming. “My first mate would be happy to be in charge of ejecting you into raw space. Wouldn’t you, Arkm?”

  First Mate Thur said, “It would be a pleasure, Captain. Lieutenant Mizel and I were very close.”

  This is all just too much, Laura thought, losing control of her temper.

  “Would you cut this goddamned mealy-mouthed crap!” she said, standing up and spilling her wine in the process. “You’re not scaring me. If you want your overripe wife back, Northern, you can go back and get her! That freighter’s gonna be just where you left it.”

  “We do not believe in suicide!” Northern said, matching her glare with his own. He then turned a scathing glance on Dansen Jitt.

  “And just what kind of money am I going to have to pay you to get me where I want to go?” Laura finished. “Ah! Now we get to where we want to be,” said the captain. “Dr. Mish, just what is the going rate these days for passenger transport aboard the Starbow?”

  Dr. Mish began to punch buttons on his board.

  “No, wait a moment. We have no great need of money, have we, Mr. Thur?”

  “Our treasury is quite healthy in all manner of currency—particularly GalFed currency, Captain.”

  “So. Laura, let me ask you a question. I understand that this little pangalactic jaunt is not official Federation business. I heard you tell Mr. Jitt that you are seeking your brother. Who and what is your brother, and have you any idea of where he may be?”

  So he had been monitoring her conversation with Jitt—she had thought there was something odd when the little man stayed to talk. Still, there was no reason not to tell them about Cal. “My brother is Cal Shemzak. He was captured by the Jaxdrons on a recent raid.”

  Dr. Mish blinked. “Shemzak. I knew I’d heard that name. Cal Shemzak! Of course. Your brother … Cal Shemzak is a Federation physicist, specializing in … ” His words trailed off as a manic gleam came to his eyes.

  Captain Northern turned his a
ttention back to Laura. “You are a blip-ship pilot, according to your own statements and our good doctor’s sensor readings. You have a great many implants—your body must be one mass of scar tissue.” More quietly, he said, “Is that the reason for your drab coverall?”

  Laura smiled. “Federation surgery is quite sophisticated, Captain. I have a minimum of scar tissue. Do you want me to prove it to you?” One hand rested on the Velcro closure of her jump suit.

  Captain Tars Northern raised his eyebrows. “Sounds interesting, but no, we’ll take your word, I think.”

  Laura took her hand away from the fastener and relaxed fractionally, sipping her wine.

  Northern continued, “Our doctor here would very much like to meet your brother. Apparently he is familiar with Shemzak’s work. I’ve never encountered a blip-ship, wouldn’t mind having one on board for a while. Therefore I think we can strike a small bargain, Laura Shemzak.” He leaned forward with a smile that, if it weren’t so hard, might be termed “mischievous.”

  Laura well understood Northern’s interest in blip-ships. The XT program was a top-secret Federation project. So far none of the Free Worlds had anything resembling the small, ultrafast, surface/system/Underspace vessels. Any information concerning the structure of one would be valuable on the black market; an actual blip-ship itself would be priceless.

  By bringing a blip-ship on board the Starbow, she would be committing that most heinous act against the Friendhood: treason.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t care less about the Friendhood. Loyalty to them, after all, was programmed, knee-jerk stuff, nothing earned or valuable, like her respect, her love for her brother.

  And besides, who said she would have to keep faith with a bunch of pirates if, once she got good solid blip-ship alloy around her pretty tail, she simply thumbed her nose at Captain Tars Almighty Northern and vamoosed?

  She called for a refill for her wineglass. “Sure, Captain. Why not?” She grabbed a napkin and stuffed one corner into the neck of her jump suit. “Now, did you say some food was on its way? I’m hungry as a Denebian frogbeast popping out of hibernation!”

  Chapter Ten

  So, Laura thought, again my intuition was right. I have landed in a peculiar situation, but it looks as though I’ve got a ride.

  Since the deal was struck, she felt no compulsion to be anything but herself. As the soup was served, she fell silent and observed the interplay of the unusual personalities around her, honestly curious about what kind of people banded together to become pirates and mercenaries. Since her own course in life had been mostly plotted, it was difficult for her to understand an autonomous group of intelligent, if bizarre, individuals.

  After the soup, a savory concoction of broth and a variety of vegetation Laura had never seen before, two more crewmembers joined the party.

  The two had helped unload the loot captured from the stricken Ezekiel. Whether or not they had actually participated in the raid they did not say; but from the looks of them, Laura surmised that they had every bit as much spunk as Lieutenant Kat Mizel.

  Laura took an immediate shine to Midshipman Gemma Naquist. She wore red hair cut in a no-nonsense bob over a face that was at least Celtic, if not Irish. Bright blue eyes above freckles and a pert nose shone with intelligence. Her body, in a gray uniform, was willowy but firm. She seemed to own all of the self-confidence that Laura feared she lacked. Older by at least half a decade, Gemma was someone Laura would like to talk to.

  But Gemma Naquist, like her counterpart, Midshipman Silver Zenyo, hardly gave the dinner guest notice.

  Laura despised Silver Zenyo on the spot.

  Zenyo was the kind of creature, Laura assumed, who lived off the metaphorical blood of others. Her hair was a beautiful, well-kept cloud of chiffon. Her creamy features were no doubt surgically softened from their true harpy nature. She affected a frilled blouse and bright red trim to her uniform. And worst of all, she was painted … she wore makeup … something you only saw these days on the more decadent colonies like Wonderwhat and Heidi-Ho. Her body, hands, and features moved in a manner calculated to manipulate the sexual interest of males, and only Dr. Mish seemed unaffected by her presence. The stench of her perfume wafted across the table, smelling to Laura like swamp gas.

  But her power was not merely in manipulation; beneath everything else, Laura sensed a deep strength. Beneath a playful half smile there also moved a mystery that intrigued Laura, despite her intense initial reaction of distaste.

  “And my attilium?” Dr. Mish asked, interrupting the staccato report given by Midshipman Naquist.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor,” said Naquist, “but there was no sign of attilium. The boarding parties did double check.”

  “But I detected something on my sensors,” Dr. Mish said bemusedly. “Oh dear oh dear. Shontill is not going to be pleased. I could have sworn … Oh well, it must have been a misreading. Some Federation impulse engines are using new power nodes. Still, Shontill will be upset.”

  “Just keep a leash on that ungodly beast,” Silver Zenyo said, her nose turned up disgustedly. “The last time he had a tantrum, he traumatized my poor Bickle!”

  “Shontill would rather eat Bickle, I think,” Gemma said, deadpan.

  “Gemma, how could you even suggest such a thing?” She turned long-lashed eyes toward Captain Northern. “Tars, you would never permit such an atrocity, would you?”

  Northern shrugged noncommittally. “It’s an alien-eat-alien universe, Midshipman.”

  Laura slurped the last of her soup, and burped. “Alien, huh? You mean human-type or the real McCoy?” she said, emphasizing on purpose her boorish qualities to annoy Silver.

  Silver Zenyo gave the newcomer a disgusted look. “My goodness, at least Shontill excuses himself when he makes rude noises.”

  “Is there something more coming , or are you all on some strange type of diet?” Laura asked, frowning at Silver Zenyo.

  “Oh yes, of course,” said Dr. Mish, pressing buttons. “My lads are quite prompt, but I neglected to give the proper orders.”

  “The robots’ names,” said Laura, “are awfully familiar.”

  “Yes,” Captain Northern said as the robot called Oliver Cromwell rolled a cart into the room. “A conceit of our dear Michael Mish.”

  Dr. Mish nodded. “I’ve been experimenting with artificial persona overlays in robots, and my latest bunch have been based on famous military leaders of Earth.” Laura smiled as she remembered her history lessons.

  Dinner was an excellent dish of processed algae-beef and soy-noodles, flavored by odd but pleasing spices. Laura ate with zest, occasionally splattering her bib or herself with gravy in the vigor of her appetite.

  “Were you born in a barn, girl?” Silver Zenyo said, alarmed. “Really, Captain, it’s bad enough we have to transport a Feddy agent. Must we tolerate her at supper?”

  “All that fluffy hair clogging your ears?” Laura said, the faint drawl in her accent purposefully pronounced for maximum annoyance. She licked her thumb, popping it out of her mouth with a vaguely obscene sound. “I’m a damned important addition to your comfy little crew. Aren’t I, Northern?”

  She could feel her self-confidence and cockiness returning. This is gonna be okay, she told herself.

  “We’ll see about that, Laura Shemzak,” said the captain, all traces of levity gone from his manner. Laura felt something of the true power of his personality and immediately lost her appetite. “Let’s hope so, for all our sakes.”

  Captain Northern picked up a knife and sliced a piece of pseudo-beef that could have easily been cut with his fork.

  Chapter Eleven

  The foil flashed, neatly riposting the blow. Steel shivered. Chivon Lasster retreated, and the man with whom she dueled advanced, his blade of energy shedding sparks as it touched the metal of her weapon.

  Suddenly her opponent executed a comp
licated series of movements. Lasster’s foil was torn from her grasp, clattering off to the other side of the room. The fencer lunged, his translucent blade cutting neatly through her chest.

  Chivon looked down. “Does it have to be so realistic?” she asked.

  “If you are to learn the true art of fencing, you must feel the attendant fear, yes,” the figure before her said. In a twinkling, his weapon vanished. He stepped back, his body growing more opaque as it neared the field source. “I trust you enjoyed your lesson today, Friend Lasster?” the Computer Companion said.

  A trifle shaken, Chivon Lasster went to get a drink.

  “I don’t think that’s the correct word, Andrew. Very good exercise, though.”

  “And I don’t think that’s the right after-exercise refreshment,” the CompComp admonished. “Would you care for a discussion of the effects of the C2H5OH molecule upon the human nervous system, to say nothing of—”

  “No!” Chivon Lasster said curtly, tossing back a finger of contraband Xorfrost brandy. “Spare me, please.”

  The CompComp glimmered softly. “You are still troubled, Chivon Lasster. The readings are plain enough. I thought we had discussed this matter fully, utilizing the specific focusing processes that usually work so well for an individual of your temperament.”

  She poured another, larger, portion of brandy.

  “The other aspects of this business,” Andrew continued, sitting down and folding his long fingers together in a professorial manner. “Zarpfrin … Zarpfrin’s machinations. The implant. The suicidal mission. The Jaxdron. Laura Shemzak. All this would not truly trouble you except for certain associations, would it?”

  She let the sting of the brandy nip her tongue, slide down her throat, warm her stomach. “Say it. Go ahead and say it, then,” she sighed. “I’ve not been stingy with the use of the name. I freely admit that I am still deeply troubled by Tars Northern, that our partnership in the days of the project and his … his traitorous behavior, his abandonment of loyalty … ” Her words trailed off as she realized how much emotion she was giving them. “Tars Northern, Andrew, as you will no doubt find if you care to take the effort to check your data banks, was and no doubt still is a larcenous, unprincipled thief, scoundrel, and … well, I haven’t a thesaurus on hand, but all the rest of the synonyms apply. He goes against everything that we stand for in this state … all the principles of behavior and value that for once have united humanity in a coherent program for progress and advancement within a free and just framework!” She took another sip of her drink. The words came so easily … too easily. Mere recitation.